serve his country and look sharp. He was met with great dis-
appointment. The Corps had a height requirement of 5 feet 8
inches, and Williams stood 5 feet 6 inches. However, as the
war effort grew, it took its toll on the Corps’ ranks. The Corps
was eventually forced to change its height requirement, paving
the way for Williams to achieve his dream.
Williams became a full-fledged Marine in May 1943, des-
tined to serve in the Pacific theater. His first stop was Guadal-
canal, a tropical island that was worlds away from the dairy
farm where he grew up. It was there he learned to be a soldier.
“We trained with Marines who had already been through
combat,” he says. “They trained us thoroughly on discipline and
acceptance of orders. When they said that was your duty, you
accepted it and went on to do it. I figured the more I learned,
the better chance I had for survival.”
Williams was anxious going into battle, but he had a secret
weapon to inspire his bravery. Her name was Ruby Dale
Meredith.
“I never let myself think I wasn’t coming home to that beautiful
lady I wanted to marry,” he says. “We became engaged before
I left, and I would not permit myself to think I would not make
it home to her.”
Courage at Iwo Jima
On February 23, 1945, when the flag went up on Iwo Jima,
Williams and his fellow Marines felt their spirits lift, too.
“I had been there three days,” he says. “Some of the men had
been there five days, and we had lost so many. The flag went
up about 1,000 yards from where we were. When we saw Old
Glory flying on that mountain, we began yelling and celebrat-
ing. We felt like we were going to win this thing.”
One thing stood between Williams’ company and victory:
a line of pill boxes, bunkers made of a cement material that
permitted the enemy to point their guns out a small opening in
the front, wreaking havoc while remaining safe. Those cement
bunkers were impenetrable.
Williams was asked to go in with a flame thrower, the only
weapon that could be effective. He was given the order and told
Williams giving a speech at the Cedar
Park monument dedication in Texas.
82
WEST VIRGINIA EXECUTIVE
Williams receiving the Medal of Honor
from President Harry Truman in 1945.
to choose four Marines to go with him to distract the enemy
while he did his job. The mission took four hours.
“I have no explanation as to how I was able to eliminate
seven of those pill boxes,” says Williams. “Of the four men
with me, two gave their lives that day.”
Williams took some shrapnel in his leg on Iwo Jima and
was tagged for evacuation, but he tore off the tag and stayed,
serving in the Pacific until the atomic bomb ended the war.
A Hero Comes Home
October 5, 1945, President Harry Truman awarded Williams
the Medal of Honor, the highest honor bestowed on military
personnel and an honor that would later help him heal the
emotional wounds he suffered during the war.
“I was ordered back to the States to receive the medal, and
I decided after that I was going home to that beautiful lady
I cherished,” says Williams. “When Harry Truman put that
ribbon around my neck, it was still a bit of a mystery to me. I
couldn’t figure out why I was selected for this honor.”
Although Williams came back to his girl a hero, he did not
feel like a hero or even much like himself. He was torn be-
tween his mission and the realization that the enemies were
young men like him.
“There was no PTSD at the time and nowhere to get help,”
he says. “Your main source of comfort and adjustment was
your family. I had taken too many lives in such a horrible way.
I couldn’t forgive myself, but that was my order. My purpose
was to win the war.”
Constantly being asked to talk about what led him to be a
hero helped Williams find himself.
“I was forced to talk about my experience, and that was the
best therapy I could have had,” he says. “I had a brother in
the Battle of the Bulge who wouldn’t talk about it, and, con-
sequently, it just ate at him.”
Eventually, in 1962, after wrestling with it for years, he de-
cided to accompany his wife to church, and that helped him
reconcile his mission with his heart.
“I always say I married a Methodist angel, and I ended
up in church and realized I could get forgiveness and I could
forgive myself,” he says. “I realized God was not holding me
accountable.”